27 August 07

Happy Shitting

“Imagine,” Two Tonys began, “you’re a young gung-ho twenty-one-year old right outta boot camp. Your job – or so Bush’s shills tell you – is to fight insurgents and terrorists. You’re a front-line trooper. Chest out. Eyes alert. They tell you you’re on a mission for your country. You find yourself in a stinkin’ back alley in a Humvee with six of your pals. It gets dark, and you’re in the bowels of Sadr City. It stinks. It’s loud. And all at once – bang! – three of your pals are dead and you wake up in Walter Reid hospital minus your asshole, your balls and part of your leg. You’re in no pain 'cause they’ve got you doped up real good on morphine. But they tell you you’ll never take a good healthy shit again. It’s all about the colostomy bag on your side from now on. If you’re lucky, you might walk some day – with a prosthetic leg. Now, as you’re recoverin’, you’re watchin’ CNN news, and your mind – fucked up as it is – thinks, Hey, maybe we’ll be on the news. Perhaps a decent mention of our sacrifice. So you scope in on the news. Maybe old Wolf Blitzer will show a picture from when you still had an asshole and balls, or a picture of your pals. But guess what the lead story is? Not only Blitzer’s but on all the other fuckin’ channels. Guess what it is? It’s Paris fuckin’ Hilton - again - this time on her way to jail, and what kind of fuckin’ cell she’s gonna have for twenty-three days. It’s about her toothpaste, and whether she’s gonna be allowed Wet Wipes or Charmin fuckin’ toilet paper to wipe her ass with or - heaven forbid! – be forced to use L.A. county jail one-ply. Fuhgeddabout your asshole. It’s back in that alley in Iraq with the blood of your three pals. But who gives a fuck? Your dead pals and your missin’ asshole ain’t worth a fuck to the news mooches slobberin’ all over their selves to get the drop on who’s givin’ Paris a snatch search, or which bulldykes are lookin’ to turn her out. Fuck your missin’ asshole, it’s all about poor Paris. Wolf and all those other newscasters couldn’t give a rat’s. They wanna sell insurance, cars, condos. You might getta mention in your hometown, as long as it don’t interfere with the real lead story. Yeah! You’ve been had. The realisation brings on a bowel movement. It’s not your fault, but you’ve been had. Happy shitting!”

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